


your silver shining eyes

by scorpiod



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Bad Parent John Winchester, First Kiss, Full Moon, M/M, Pre-Canon, Sibling Incest, Weird Werewolf Behavoirs, Weird Werewolf Puberty, mentions of child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:00:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28227285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiod/pseuds/scorpiod
Summary: Sam hates full moons. But this time, there’s no Dad around. Just him and Dean. He thinks maybe, that’s what he’s always wanted.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Kudos: 28
Collections: Writing Rainbow Silver





	your silver shining eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hearthouses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearthouses/gifts).



> 1\. I am disregarding SPN's werewolf mythology and making up my own! Or rather, adding a new brand of werewolf. 
> 
> 2\. Sam is pushy in this fic, but the relationship is consensual.

In this household, Sam dreads full moons. 

Dean thinks it’s because Sam hates what he is;  _ Sam is always bitching about being normal,  _ he complains. That sort of thing _.  _

But that’s not it. There’s a lot Sam likes about being a werewolf. He just doesn’t like doing full moons with Dad.

_ Why are you the only one who treats moons like this? _ Dean asks him sometimes. And Sam, teeth clicking in his mouth,  _ I’m not the only one.  _ Chin jutting out.  _ You know what he’s like _ . 

Dean listens to John, because that’s what you’re supposed to do in a pack. 

Sam doesn’t want to listen. Sam and John, the old wolf, the two of them always end up with bite marks and bruises and scratches all over each other. Their fights, always more terrifying under the moon than in human skin. They’re hard on Dean, poor mediator wolf, getting in between them. 

Sam tries not to fight for Dean’s sake but he can’t help it. The full moon always drives him a little nuts. 

This time it’s different. It's the day of the full moon and Sam’s knees keep knocking into each other, his growth spurt wild and sending him careening, his senses all haywire. He can smell Dean across the room, smell him on the bed, smell him in the Impala, smell his heavy musky scent that sticks to the back of his throat like molasses. 

Sam, from the other side of the motel, can hear his Dad’s voice on the phone, clear as day:

_ Take care of your brother tonight, okay? He’s going to need you. This moon is going to be hard on him.  _

“Dad’s gone this full moon,” Dean tells him when he hangs up the phone. “Stuck on a hunt.” Sam imagines his father having to find a place to hole himself up; wondering if he’s near woods or forest or a nature preserve. Wondering if he’s going to have to shift in the hotel room he’s at; that’s always the worst, not having the room to run, but Sam can’t find it in himself to feel a twinge of sympathy. 

Sam wraps his arms around himself, defensive.  _ I don’t need a babysitter,  _ he snaps. 

Dean’s laugh is throaty and low. Sam stares for too long at the smile that forms on his face, his wide lips, white teeth, the pink of tongue that flashes momentarily as he licks his lips, as exciting as a naked actress’s sideboob in an R rated movie. More exciting, even. 

“You don’t want your big brother around anymore, kiddo? Is that it?”

Sam shakes his head. 

“No. I want you.”

Dean lets out a breath, slow and deep, and Sam listens to the rapid punch of his heart beat. 

  
  


^^^^

  
  


They’re not like other wolves. That’s the first lesson. Other wolves can’t change right, don’t shift the right way. Claws and fangs and hardly any hair, but not much else. More human than wolf, that's the problem with them. 

Those are monsters.  _ We’re not monsters. We’re just animals sometimes _ . Animals don’t want to hurt anyone; they just want to be left alone. 

_ We hunt monsters.  _

Winchesters are good with guns and knives but always have something wild lurking under their skin. Sam thinks other hunters can tell sometimes; that maybe they’ve seen Dean’s glittering eyes turning silver in the moonlight, reflecting the light of the crescent moon, or Sam sniffing his brother when he forgets himself in public. 

Better for them to be away from other hunters. Dad doesn’t get along with other hunters. Dad doesn’t like to introduce them to Sam and Dean— _ wolf pups are more at risk. Fragile.  _

Sam never feels fragile. 

Sam has watched his brother and father shift into wolves. It doesn’t hurt. It just happens.  _ That’s what we’re meant to be.  _ It feels normal and right to slip his skin. Sometimes, Sam wishes he could run away and just be a wolf in the woods.

(Dean would never leave Dad, so Sam doesn’t test that)

They can change in the hotel room; that was fine when they were kids. When Dean was small, it was two boys and one big wolf. When Sam was small, it was him, a large black wolf and a smaller grey one. He was too small to change then. That was before he was locked in a power struggle with his father. Before he shifted for the first time and his brain became a snarled nest of fury and hunger and the gnashing of teeth. 

But Sam’s not a kid anymore. 

_ There’s no excuse to lose your mind on a full moon. _ Second lesson. 

Other werewolves hunt humans on a full moon. Rip out their hearts. They’re dangerous. 

The Winchesters are dangerous, but they don’t do that. They  _ could,  _ but they don’t. When they change, they’re just animals. Wild wolves in the country, in the city, roaming about, looking for fresh meat. They wanna be left alone on full moon nights. 

“I don’t want to be here,” Sam says to Dean, idly scratching at his skin. Sun’s gonna set soon. “Not in the hotel. Not tonight.” His eyes are gold. Sam watches Dean swallow. Watches the bob of his Adam’s apple move, as he thinks about what to say.

There’s a sharp pungent scent in the air. Dean’s scent, but stronger. Sam has been smelling it for a while; every time Dean goes out with a girl. Fitful movements in the middle of the night. 

“Okay,” Dean agrees, caving in. “Okay. Okay, Sam, but we gotta get out of here now if you want to find a good place to shift.” 

The third lesson is  _ we’re a pack. Now and always. _

Sam is still trying to learn what pack means, as he daydreams about taking his brother’s throat between his teeth and biting down, mouth awash with his brother’s blood. 

(He doesn’t want to hurt Dean; he’d give Dean his throat if he asked)

  
  


^^^^

  
  


The sky is getting dark but the moon hasn’t risen yet and Sam’s blood is burning. Skin itching. He wants to shift, but it’s more than that. It’s being near Dean. It’s his scent, sharp and musky. Hyper arousal, and just plain arousal. 

In the woods, they hike, going deeper into the forest, where people don’t go. They left a stolen car behind with clothes for the morning and they’re down to their underwear now. It’s a cold night but they don’t feel it, their skin overheated, ready to burst. It’s a night like any other, except Sam is hungry for things beyond just prey. 

Sam stares at the expanse of Dean’s back as he follows him into the woods and thinks it’s pure, untouched, clean skin—every wound heals, stitches and bullets pushing themselves out of his skin. Sam wants to lean in and bite, leave a mark everyone will see, something permanent, a ring of his teeth marks.  _ My brother. Pack. Mine.  _

The woods smell of pine and forest and moss; he can smell and hear all the little creatures, hiding for the night, prey ready to be hunted as dusk grows above them. 

“C’mon, Sam, keep moving,” Dean says. Sam stopped walking; he didn’t even realize. 

Dean stops and turns around to stare at him, eyes flickering silver. 

“Dean,” Sam says and takes a step forward. His voice rumbles. He takes in a deep breath, breathing in Dean. The wildness is ready to burst out of him. Sometimes, it feels like he doesn’t even need the moon.

“Sam.” Dean’s voice is a warning growl, but he’s not sure what he’s being warned against, and Sam’s never been good at being told what to do.

Sam closes the distance and kisses his brother, putting his hands on his shoulders to grab him, blunt nails digging into skin, clinging to Dean. His brother makes a soft, almost yelp sound of surprise when Sam pushes his lips against his, his mouth parting for Sam, sharing breath and spit. 

Sam has never kissed before; he doesn’t know how lips work against another’s, how to angle them, bumping their noses. It doesn’t come naturally to him, like running, like hunting does. It's a very human thing to do. But he manages to lick into his mouth, run his tongue against his teeth, before Dean pushes him back.

Not too far; less of a shove, more playful than angry. Sam laughs like this is a game. 

“Stop that,” Dean says. “You can’t do that, Sam.” He licks his lips and Sam thinks about how flushed his brother looks, his pupils dilated, and how he can’t tell if that’s the moon about to rise or if it’s just all of them. 

Sam pushes him back into a tree. “Why?” He bites out. “You don’t want me to.”

He presses closer, pushing his face in his brother’s neck. Licks a long stripe up his jugular, feels it beat against his tongue, feels his breath shake and his heart rate speed up. “I can smell you,” Sam rasps. “You smell good.” 

He wants to tear into Dean. Feel his skin and sinew and bones beneath his mouth. 

He pushes closer; Sam’s almost as tall as Dean now, despite being fifteen. He’s getting taller every day.  _ Beanpole,  _ Dean calls him, but they both know he’ll fill out soon, like a proper wolf, like Dean and Dad. Against his thigh, he can feel his brother is hard, that sharp musky smell he loves so much in the air. 

“Sam,” Dean breathes, gently pushing him back, until their foreheads are resting against each other. “The moon is rising. We don’t have time for this.” 

Dean’s wrong. They have all the time tonight. 

The full moon rises. The Winchester Wolves nip and bite and playfully roll around in the dirt and grass together. They hunt down deer and squirrels and run throughout the woods in the night.

The sun rises. It’s early dawn. Sam wakes up with the gamey remains of a kill in between his teeth, curled up next to his naked brother under the morning rays. He thinks about waking him up, getting back to the motel, but instead he turns over, buries his face in his chest and breathes him in deep, sleeping in the woods a little longer. 


End file.
